


Sometimes love (and soulmates) come the long way round

by Foxyhunter99



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Self-Harm, Soulmarks, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, know your tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27372499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxyhunter99/pseuds/Foxyhunter99
Summary: A soulmark, a single letter on your wrist and all the words it can form, guide both Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark on a journey to find both themselves and their soulmate.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth (minor), Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen (minor), Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 170
Kudos: 188





	1. Chapter 1

Soulmarks can be a tricky thing. When they first emerged a thousand years ago, they were an image that your soulmate shared matching you with your true love. Simple enough right? A gift from the Gods, to help you find your destiny. However the journey to find your soulmate was as important as finding them, and humans being humans found away, as always, to fuck it up. This was especially true among the elite as the fine Lords of Westeros cheated the Gods out of the journey by sending drawings of their soulmarks to the Citadel where maesters compiled them and matched them up. 

But without the journey, the individuals that met weren’t soulmates. Not yet. They hadn’t been forged and hammered by time into the people they were meant to be that would allow that deep connection. Thus misery was found in unions that should have brought everlasting joy. Faith was lost in soulmarks. Matches were made ignoring them and slowly they faded away.

The Gods ( _the old Gods, the new it matters little here_ ) were not to be deterred. They found a different way to guide people on their journey to find both their destiny and their soulmate. The soulmarks slowly returned, but not to everybody, and were now a large, single letter on their wrist that appeared in adolescence. Words would appear using that letter that only the bearer of the mark could see to guide them along the way. Only their soulmate, when deemed ready to be together, would be able to see the words too. But as always, humans could misconstrue the intentions of the Gods in the words that were sent. Or worse yet, out right defy the Gods who were trying to guide them. 

And the people needed all the help they could get. A great evil, long dormant, was coming and those who would fight it and rebuild the world anew, needed to be forged and united with their soulmates now more than ever.

* * *

It goes without saying that Tywin Lannister was born without a soulmark. Not even the Gods would tell him what to do is what the small folk said. Nor did his daughter, who claimed to be just as happy as her father to not have the Gods interfering in her life. Although her twin claims that this isn’t true as she raged against him when his appeared in their fifteenth year of life. Jaime Lannister’s letter was a “W''. He told all that would listen that the first word to appear on his arm was _Warrior._ While this was true, he neglected to mention the word underneath, _Woman._ Thus the phrase, and the clue to both his destiny and true love was _Warrior Woman._ In time Jaime’s mark would say _Whitecloak, Wildfire, War, Winterfell, Wights_ and most tellingly _Wench_ as the aforementioned Warrior Woman entered his life.

However, this is not Jaime’s story but that of his younger brother, Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf of Casterly Rock. Tyrion’s soulmark was also a “W” and appeared while he was grieving the loss of his first wife, Tysha. It mattered little to him if she had been a paid whore or a simple crofter’s daughter. He had loved her and he had been a participant in her downfall, however unwillingly. 

The word that appeared was _Wife_ and he had felt the gentle loving caress as if the Maiden had written on his skin herself. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. Did it mean his wife Tysha had been his soulmate? A future wife? Honestly, it didn’t matter in his misery and he told everyone the first words to appear were both _Wine_ and _Whores_ and proceeded to drown himself in both of them for years without another peep out of his useless soulmark. That was until the old Hand died suddenly and his sister, the Queen, and King Robert rode for Winterfell and Ned Stark. 

Tyrion had not been planning to be part of retinue that went North, preferring the warmth of the South and the brothels of King’s Landing. Sadly, this soulmark had other plans for him and woke with a vengeance alternating the words _Winterfell_ and _Wall_ in searing icy writing that burned in agony until Tyrion asked his goodbrother the King if he could come along. Robert of course readily agreed if for no reason other than his children were fond of their uncle and it would annoy his wife exceedingly.

Weeks later, tired from the journey, Tyrion’s soulmark communicated to him again as he rode into Winterfell. It was once again the word _Wife,_ the words warm and soothing on his arm. Remembering the words of his father (“ _Where to whores go_?” The mighty lion of Lannister mused when Tyrion had finally had enough gumption to ask what happened to Tysha), he quickly turned his horse from the gate and rode straight to Wintertown’s brothel hoping this was a sign that Tysha might be there. She wasn’t of course, but he consoled himself in the arms of a redhead named Ros. That night he dreamt that he was being chastised by the Mother herself (who looked much like the portrait of Joanna in the Great Hall) for misunderstanding his soulmark. 

He didn’t have much time to figure out what he had missed with the last message from the Gods as the next one appeared during the feast in honor of their arrival. _White Wolf_ it had said. Well at least he knew he wouldn’t fuck that up he thought as he talked to the owner of the albino direwolf, Jon Snow, who was destined to take the Black at the Wall. He wasn’t sure what role the boy would play in his life, but found him to be a bright young man and easy to converse with.

_Wall_ the soulmark told him again as if he didn’t remember from before. He rubbed the mark in frustration. He dealt with enough condescension from his family, now the Gods too? 

“I got your message the first time!” he shouted at the mark, just as the eldest Stark daughter and her direwolf rounded the corner. She was a lovely thing, a tall girl on the cusp of womanhood with striking blue eyes and a mane of bright red hair. Her mother was a beauty, but this girl would eclipse her as she blossomed he had no doubt. He had heard that Ned Stark and King Robert had betrothed the poor girl to his vile nephew Joffrey. 

At the sight of her wide eyes at his words, he said, “Sorry my lady.” He could feel the soulmark throb anew and in frustration yanked his sleeve down. Whatever new thing the Gods had to tell him could wait. He’d had enough of it for one day. Tyrion glanced at the stylized “L” on her own wrist “My soulmark didn’t talk to me for years and now it nags at me like my old Septa.” he said with a chortle. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want your soulmark to speak to you. Doesn’t that just mean you’re one step closer to your destiny and your soulmate?” Sansa asked genuinely perplexed in a sweet voice. “Mine has only talked to me twice, but I know it’s already led me to my wolf and my soulmate.” she said dreamily. “My mark appeared with the word “ _Lady”_ the day my brothers brought home the pups and I knew which one was mine right away. The next time it spoke to me it said “ _Love_ ” right before the King’s party came through the gates. I saw Prince Joffrey for the first time and I just knew. It was just like a story.” Sansa sighed happily.

Tyrion couldn’t help but smile at her earnestness but it dropped at the thought of this sweet, naive girl in the clutches of both his sister and sadistic nephew. It was not his place to dissuade her from her affections, but at least he could clear a little of the mist from her eyes. “You do know that Joffrey doesn’t have a soulmark.” he said gently.

“Did you know that my parents are soulmates?” Sansa responded. “But they were married for several years and had conceived my elder brother before their marks revealed themselves. Neither one was ready for that knowledge when they first met, both thinking their potential soulmates were lost to them.” Tyrion nodded his head in acknowledgment. He had heard the stories of Brandon Stark and some whispers about Arthur Dayne’s sister. “That’s why I’m not worried about Joffrey. I’m sure he’ll get his soon.” Sansa said with a firmness in her voice. “And then we’ll see each other's words and we’ll know we are meant to be together.”

Tyrion was almost jealous of the certainty in her voice. To be so young and so certain of her fate. “I hope you’re right my lady and it would bring me joy to find you happy and settled when I return to the capitol.”

“You are not returning to King’s Landing with the royal party?”

“No my lady. My pesky soulmark wishes me to freeze my small self to death at the Wall. I will accompany your bastard brother there.” He paused to leave but could not leave her without a warning. “Stay close to your father in the capitol. There are many who will claim to be your friend, but are only using you for your own gain. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

“And how am I to know what you tell me is the truth?” she said with a quirk in her smile.

“You don’t until you figure it out for yourself. But as long as you ask yourself questions like that, you will survive the Red Keep yet Lady Stark.”

“Of course I will. I am to be their Queen.” she pulled herself to her full height before regarding him. “You should listen to your soulmark, it’s not fair to your soulmate if you don’t. I’m sure she’s waiting for you.”

“Yes I’m sure she’s impatient for her dwarven love. I’m sure she’ll be overcome with joy.” he said sarcastically as his heart ached in loneliness.

She scowled down at him, a queen already. “None of that matters when you find your other half. She will love you as you are, as the Gods have made you.”

Tyrion smiled “Of course my lady.” Gods willing, dear old Ned would see Joffrey for the pile of human garbage he was and be able to break the betrothal before his daughter suffered the consequences. Even if it meant his daughter would never be Queen. 

* * *

  
  
  


Tyrion stayed at the wall for several weeks and came to admire the men of the Night’s Watch. He became very close with the new recruits and found a kindred spirit in the broody Jon Snow and was half afraid his soulmark would tell him to stay. Rarely, a soulmark would guide you to a profession if that was your destiny. The current Commander of the Night’s Watch was such. After his soulmate had died, his soulmark had sent him to the wall to serve. It also happened with Maesters and those who served the Seven. He was relieved that his mark stayed quiet during his visit and remained so after he left. Cold and celibacy? No thank you. 

The morning he was to leave Jon Snow woke him looking a little wild eyed and paranoid as he entered the room. He clutched his right wrist in his hand, and Tyrion recognized the look of a man that just got his soulmark. Jon stammered “I’m sorry my lord, I just didn’t know who else to tell. Why now? Why me? I’m days from taking my oath. Does this change that?”

Tyrion lit a candle and indicated for him to roll up his sleeve where a cursive “D” had appeared. “What did it tell you? Did it tell you to go somewhere, give you a name?” It was rare but it happened. Tyrion touched the mark gently and Jon flinched. “Does it hurt?” Sometimes the feel of the word was as much a clue as the word itself.

“Burns.” Jon whispers.

“Like fire or ice?” Tyrion asked remembering how his own mark felt telling him to ride North.

“Both.” Jon said hesitantly Tyrion raised his eyebrows in confusion. “The top word _Direwolf_ burns like the cold.”

“Makes sense.” Tyrion replied glancing at Ghost. “There’s a second word?” It was a bit unusual to have two words appear unless they were a descriptive phrase like _White Wolf._ Especially for the first time a soulmark appeared.

“Yes and burns like my skin is aflame.”

“What does it say?”

Jon hesitated and Tyrion heard the fear in his voice when he leaned forward and said in a low voice. “It says _Dragon_ my lord.”

* * *

  
  


The ride back to King’s Landing was largely uneventful. He enjoyed the company of the Night’s Watch recruiter Yoren and spent a great deal of time thinking about Jon and his mark. He had always been fascinated by Dragons and wondered what poor Jon’s soulmark meant. Dragons were extinct after all, not that you’d find one in the icy North anyway. He also thought about young Bran Stark and hoped the saddle he designed would help the child after his accident. Despite his chilly reception from his elder brother (with the Lady of the Keep mysteriously absent), which perplexed Tyrion, he wished nothing but the best for the boy.

Strangely, he found himself often thinking of the girl Sansa and their brief but meaningful conversation at Winterfell. He hoped her father was keeping her safe while learning what a little shit Joffrey really was before it was too late. He had received little information from his brother other than the party had arrived home safely and the fat king was spending more of their father’s gold on a tournament for the new Hand. 

With all these thoughts of the Stark children, he almost believed Lady Catelyn to be an apparition when he came upon her in the roadside inn that day. But when she and her men seized him for hiring an assassin to kill Bran, ( _“Bran?” He thought incredulously. “What did you see?”)_ he thought perhaps the woman was mad with grief and allowed himself to go without bloodshed. 

It was only when his soulmark began to throb in agonizing pain that he realized what had really just occurred. In letters that screamed at him and looked as if they had been carved into his own flesh a singular word appeared-- _WAR_.

“This world is fucked.” he muttered to himself just before they gagged him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Sansa wasn’t entirely sure when she stopped believing in soulmarks. It wasn’t after they took Lady from her, she blamed Arya for that. It wasn’t after her father was imprisoned and her sister went missing. It wasn’t even after she realized how cruel and despicable Joffrey was. She still believed in her soulmark, it was just her own fault for not listening to it. She was so eager to fall in love and find her soulmate she had just assumed the message of “ _ Love”  _ when the King’s party had arrived in Winterfell was about the handsome young prince.

No, she was pretty sure she stopped believing when her soulmark went quiet. There were several schools of thought about what it meant when a mark stopped communicating with you. One thought was it was punishment. The mark had tried to tell you something and you had ignored it or misinterpreted it. Most people didn’t believe this. The most popular theory is that ‘no news is good news’. If your soulmark didn’t feel the need to guide you, it meant you were on the correct path. This was the theory Sansa had subscribed to initially, but it was hard for her to believe that being a prisoner of the Lannister’s in King's Landing was guiding her to her destiny and the man that would love her for the rest of their days. It was easier to just not believe in them at all

Her soulmark was silent in the weeks following her father’s execution. It remained silent as she became a plaything for Joffey to torture. It even became something of an object of her torture. Joffrey would ask what the Gods were telling her now and laugh when she would tell him “Nothing”. He would threaten to cut it from her skin, or remove the entire hand. Truth be told, the Lannister’s for all their blustering about being happy to not have soulmarks were in fact very, very jealous.

So she waited. Waited for Robb. Waited for her soulmark to guide her and prove her wrong in her failing belief. And she waited and watched and listened. But most of all she cried.

The day that Joffey had her beaten in the throne room, was the day she finally gave up. On soulmarks, on knights, on any decency left in the world. So this was the moment her soulmark came roaring back to life as the word  _ LION  _ blazed in gold letters across her skin. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all as the boy king aimed his crossbow at her. She had been so blind, he was a lion, all lion. Her father had been right, he was a mad product of incest. She collapsed waiting to be its prey just as another lion roared behind her.

“What is the meaning of this?” roared Tyrion Lannister as he strode into the throne room. Fire blazing in his eyes he challenged Ser Meryn “What kind of knight beats a helpless girl?”

Sansa stared in wonder at the small man wearing the pin once worn by her father as he proceeded to chastise everyone present, most of all the King. As he helped her to her feet, she felt her soulmark tingle. The word “ _ LION _ ” is still blazing across her wrist. Maybe her soulmark hadn’t abandoned her, and was telling her this lion could help her. But then she remembered he was still a Lannister, and couldn’t be trusted. It was best to remember that a lion, no matter how small, could still savage her and perhaps that was what the soulmark was saying. Hadn’t he been the one to warn her about trusting too easily? 

And once again her soulmark lapsed into silence in the months that followed. Through the riots, through the anticipation of Stannis’s attack. Silence. Silence through the battle as war raged around her. 

Stannis was defeated, thanks in part to Tyrion’s clever trick with the wildfire and the arrival of the combined Lannister and Tyrell army. She had heard that Tyrion had been injured badly in the battle and did feel a bit sad for him. He had never done anything to make her suspicious of him again, and she began to trust that maybe her soulmark had been telling her that he could help her after all. But she soon forgot about that after she was finally free of Joffrey and a new savior was on the horizon, Loras Tyrell.

Loras. The “L” couldn’t be a coincidence could it? This was why she was in King’s Landing, it must be! Sure she would never be the Queen, but Lady of Highgarden sounded wonderful. She would give anything to leave King’s Landing. And Loras was so beautiful and charming. Slowly she began to believe in her soulmark again. It all made sense now. 

She even dismissed Little Fingers offer to leave with him. She was sure her soulmark would have told her if she was to follow him, but it didn’t. She was exactly where she was meant to be. Happiness filled her heart.

And it was all dashed to pieces in seconds when Tyrion Lannister came to her room announcing her betrothal, not to Loras, but to himself.

Alone in her room later that night after crying herself to sleep yet again, she woke to a tingling from her soulmark.  _ Finally _ she thought to herself  _ a sign. What do I do now? _

But all her soulmark said was  _ Lady Lannister,  _ as it wrapped around her wrist. It looked like a manacle. Apparently even her soulmark would have her in chains.

The next morning Shae found her with a bloody knife trying to cut the soulmark from her skin. 

* * *

  
  
  
After the angry declaration of  _ WAR _ from his soulmark, it lapsed into a silence so long and so profound that oftentimes Tyrion forgot it existed. Not a peep during his imprisonment at the Vale or riding in the vanguard against the Stark forces. Not a hint of interfering guidance as he took his father’s place as Hand and began to thrive in his new powerful role. 

It was freeing to be in charge of his own destiny for a while.

  
  


But it was all an illusion, because as the Battle of Blackwater showed him, it wasn’t the Gods he needed to worry about controlling his life. It was his family. It had  _ always  _ been his family. A murderous nephew, a conniving sister, a father. All of who  _ hated  _ him, and all of who had the power to destroy him.

He missed Jaime. Bronn was amusing and Pod a better squire than he deserved. But they weren’t his big brother.

He never knew what possessed him to finally confront his father, to ask for his birthright, to ask for the Rock. Maybe it was seeing death come as close as the sword did to chopping off his nose. He would like to pretend he wasn’t surprised by his father’s response. But he was. It wasn’t just the denial of his birthright after he had worked so hard to prove himself to him, it was the vitriol with which it was delivered. He knew his father hated him, but he didn’t know the sheer depth of it until that day.

So instead of Lord of the Rock, he became Master of Coin. As he became immersed in Littefinger’s bookkeeping he could only laugh at his father’s brilliance. This was a punishment dressed up as a reward for the work he had done as Hand. His father had also promised a suitable bride in time. He had no idea he would stoop so low as to betroth him to Joffrey’s castoff.

Not that Sansa wasn’t beautiful, sweet, and charming. She was in a word _ stunning.  _ But she was also an innocent, a child and shouldn’t be marrying anybody, let alone a lecherous little imp like himself. Tywin was right about that, she was a far greater match than he deserved in a wife.

_ Wife.  _ He traced his fingers over his soulmark and thought of Tysha.  _ Wife.  _ A steely resolve overtook him.  _ I don’t know why you’ve sent me that word twice, but I swear on my life that I will not let anything happen to that girl as long as she is under my protection. I will take care of Sansa. I WILL take care of my WIFE. _

His first order of business would be to get her out of King’s Landing. Joffrey would never let her be even if it damaged his own relationship with the Tyrell girl. After the royal wedding he would take her to Casterly Rock. He would write Aunt Genna and hope between the both of them, they could convince his father it would be best if Sansa was removed from the capitol. If he could leave too, all the better. 

He had just finished his missive to his Aunt when Shae burst into the room. He sighed audibly. Shae hadn’t spoken to him since he announced his betrothal to Sansa yesterday. “We’ve talked about this, you can’t be here,” he said firmly.

“Lady Sansa just tried to remove her soulmark with a knife. I got it away from her, but she won’t show me how bad it is. As her future husband, I thought you should know.” Shae said in a biting tone.

“Did you tell anybody else?” Tyrion said, leaping to his feet and hurrying into the hall.

“Who would I tell? Your family, the guards, the perverted old maester? They would think she was mad.”

“And you believe she’s not?” Tyrion asked. Trying to remove one’s soulmark was often considered a sign of madness.

Shae gave him a look that cut him to the bone. “Sansa is sad, not mad. The kind of sadness that kills all hope for the future and leaves you numb. She is not the first girl to hurt themselves just so they could feel something.”

Alarmed even more Tyrion rushed into Sansa’s room where she sat dry eyed at the table with a hastily made bandage wrapped around her wrist. If she registered his presence she didn’t acknowledge it. He approached her slowly using a calm voice as he would a wounded animal and she held out her wrist to him to examine without protest when he asked. There were several small hesitation cuts around the “L” and one deep one. There was also a mess of blood going across the entirety of the wrist that was just starting to clot.

Shae left to fetch some more bandages while Tyrion started cleaning the wound with some diluted wine. The sting of the alcohol on her cuts brought her out of the trance like state and she regarded his attention to her wound coolly while remaining silent.

Panicked that she would harm herself in this way he started rambling. “I promise you one thing my Lady, I won’t ever hurt you and I’ll be damn sure to make sure nobody else will too when we are married. I know you don’t want it, I don't want it either. But don’t you see, this is a way for you to not be a prisoner anymore. You will be my wife and I will get you out of this place. I’ll send you to the Rock. My Aunt is a character to be sure, but her heart is as big as Casterly and she will care for you. Hopefully we can both go and will wait out the war there. Then I will take you back to your family when this is done where you can continue your quest to find your soulmate.”

She stared at him blankly before replying in a flat voice, “Do you know you can’t remove your own soulmark?” she whispered. “No matter how much you cut around it, you can’t cut into it. Something just holds you back. So instead I made it tell the truth.” she said as a bit of hysteria crept into her voice. “That’s all I can do now, is look the truth in the face.”

With a growing horror at her words, Tyrion pulled the bandage away from her wrist. Now that the blood was wiped away and the bleeding almost stopped he could see that she had carved some letters into her wrist. She had added an  _ IAR  _ so that her soulmark now permanently said  _ LIAR. _

Tyrion’s stomach turned violently and he felt ill. The scars across her wrist would heal in time but he was afraid that the scars in her soul would fester. What he did know was that the girl that he had met in Winterfell so full of hopes and dreams was gone forever now because of his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments everybody! I appreciate all of them for sparing a minute of your valuable time for feedback. You are the best!


	3. Chapter 3

In the months following their wedding, Tyrion and Sansa formed a delicate amicability. He wouldn't use the word friendship but it was more intimate than an acquaintanceship. A  _ familiarity,  _ he thought. He was familiar with how radiant she looked in her sleep clothes, brushing her long, crimson hair until it shone. He was familiar with her tastes for food, clothes, books, and music. Lemon cakes were her favorite and he made sure the cook made them frequently. He was familiar with her rare smiles and even rarer laughs that he had yet to coax out of her with his usual witty repartee, but others usually Lady Margaery or Podrick could. He was familiar with the shape of her form under the blanket and the weight of her in the bed she insisted they share after a fortnight on the settee had nearly crippled him. He was familiar with the tears she shed silently late in the night when she imagined him asleep that had become a nightly occurrence after the horror at the Twins which was now being labeled the “Red Wedding.”

But mostly she was an enigma. A gossamer manifestation in the shape of a young woman that he had as great a chance of reaching as a spirit.

Her scar was healing, the only true secret of their marriage. Shae had been the only other person that knew, but not to the full extent. Tyrion had ended their relationship the day before he married Sansa to Shae’s displeasure. She didn’t understand why, if he was sending Sansa away, they couldn’t be together. Or why she couldn’t go with them to the Rock and continue to be his mistress. She just didn’t understand his strange devotion to the child bride that despised him. He had booked her passage to Braavos and hoped that was that.

But Tyrion knew that his job was to protect Sansa, which was only reinforced by his soulmark for the third time in his life blazing the work  _ Wife  _ across his skin as he cloaked his young bride. Despite all appearances, he had only drunk enough wine to be half as inebriated as he pretended because deep into his second flagon, Bronn had sidled up to him whispering in a clipped tone of the threats Joffrey had made to Sansa of forcing his way into her bed.

Tyrion had stopped drinking after that.

Their wedding night consisted of a barred door, a stilted conversation, a promise, and a rejection. But that night Tyrion dreamt of his mother, his head in her lap as she gently ran her fingers through his hair. She whispered in his ear that she was proud of him and he was doing just as the Gods intended for his new bride. It wasn’t the loving embrace one would hope for on their wedding night, but gave him a sense of joy and calm that everybody else that saw him assumed was from taking his husbandly rights with his nubile young wife.

* * *

  
  
  


Sansa’s wrist injury had been explained as a minor burn in the days before her wedding, that required a bandage. To cover it up the rest of the time Tyrion had custom made soulmark covering bracelets, a not uncommon practice among arranged marriages where one or both partners had a soulmark. On the outside they were embroidered with the Lannister Lion and bejeweled in red and gold. On the inside they were made of the softest leather, so as not to irritate her self inflicted scar, and to her great surprise an intricately embroidered Direwolf sigil of House Stark. 

Her husband was a thoughtful man like that. Always bringing her small gifts, a book, some colorful thread, or a sweet from the market. She thought at first he was trying to ingratiate himself so she would agree to consummate the union. But the gifts were left without comment, he neither waited or expected any sort of thanks. He did these things simply to please her. In turn she did her best to be a dutiful wife as trained by her mother and Septa. She arranged their meals, kept track of their social engagements, and even mended his clothing (although the maids insisted that this was their job.) 

She found in time, she didn’t even notice his dwarfism anymore. Instead she noticed other things like the furrow of his brow when he was deep in thought or the quirk of a lip when his book amused him. She noticed the tightness around his eyes when his legs pained him and the gratitude he displayed when she brought him liniments or ordered a hot bath for him on those days. She noticed the surprising amount of warmth his small body generated in their bed and how tempting it was to be drawn towards it as the weather started to change.

He was just simply Tyrion now. Her husband. A kind, considerate man that wouldn’t hurt her. A rare thing she was beginning to think in this world.

Too bad he was a Lannister.

  
  


* * *

  
  


True to his word, Tyrion had arranged for them to go to the Rock after the wedding. He owed it both to Joffrey’s untoward behavior towards Sansa, and his Aunt’s scheming. She had insisted that Tywin needed to come home and deal with some matters she was ill equipped to take care of. Since Tyrion knew there was literally nothing Genna couldn’t handle, he went along with the plan and made a show of reluctantly agreeing to go in Tywin’s stead. Mace Tyrell would take over as Master of Coin which would ensure some Highgarden gold ended up in the King’s coffers. It was all together a pleasing plan that Tywin believed he came up with all on his own.

When he told Sansa they were to go by ship to Lannisport with stops in both Sunspear to visit with Myrcella and the Arbor to visit the vineyards, she gave him the first genuine smile of their marriage. It was akin to the first warm sunny day of spring after a long dark winter. Tyrion hoped he would see many more in the months to come and selfishly he hoped that he could be the cause of a few. He intended to keep his promise to her, to help her find the soulmate she no longer believed in. But he couldn’t help his own feelings for his lovely, brave, young wife that were becoming more complicated by the day.

Tyrion’s only regret was leaving his brother, so recently returned to the family fold. He had appeared in the capital emaciated, bedraggled, minus a hand, and accompanied by a woman so statuesque she must be a descendant of Ser Duncan the Tall. Tyrion was the only other person who knew the truth of Jaime’s soulmark saying  _ Warrior Woman  _ and he couldn’t help but wonder if this woman was one in the same. But between the life changing injury and his tense relationship with Cersei, Tyrion knew better than to interfere. Jaime was on his own journey.

It was with an air of excitement, that Tyrion and Sansa packed their belongings. Their ship would depart with the outgoing tide that evening while the King was elsewhile occupied with his own new bride. Tyrion figured they would be well past Tarth before Joffrey began to notice they were gone.

By nightfall they’d be gone from this dreadful place.

  
  
  
  


He would only be half right on that score.

* * *

  
  


The royal wedding was an all day affair and with the prospect of being away from this vile place by the next morning, it felt all the longer to Sansa. She already had a headache by the time they reached the feast and her scar, long healed, had begun to itch like mad. She longed for the evening when it would be just her and Tyrion on the ship in the privacy of their quarters and she could remove the bracelet for the night. 

It was a peculiar thought, she realized, to look forward to spending alone time with the husband she hadn’t wanted. He had mentioned that they would only need to share a bed until they got to Casterly Rock where they would both be afforded their own quarters. She found herself not as initially thrilled about the prospect as she would have thought. It was oddly comforting to share a bed. The thought made her tummy flutter. She might never need to share a bed with Tyrion again. That was what she wanted...Wasn’t it? 

Nerves settled in her stomach as she picked at the 77 lavish courses the Tyrells had insisted upon. Tyrion’s appetite mirrored her own. He looked as exhausted as she felt.

“Are you well my Lord?” she asked in genuine concern.

The tone of her voice must have surprised him as he looked somewhat shocked at her concern for him. Was she really that terrible of a wife? “I am well my Lady. Just somewhat tired as my dreams of late have been unsettling.”

“I know what it’s like to have bad dreams.” Sansa replied.

“I know you do.” Tyrion said and Sansa blushed feeling the intimacy of the moment. It was one thing to share a bed, another to acknowledge in the daylight the private goings on in that bed even if the subject was not of the carnal variety. 

Sensing her discomfort he continued. “I dreamt of my mother. Not a bad dream, but I feel as if she was trying to tell me something. Something terribly important, but I can’t recall what she said.” He scratched at his own soulmark absentmindedly. “A warning perhaps? I’m not sure but I feel off. I’m sure it’s just a bit of nerves and I’ll feel better tonight.” He said his eyes darting to Blackwater Bay where their luggage was being loaded on the Redwyne ship under the supervision of Podrick as they spoke,

Sansa felt it a bit queer for Tyrion to dream of his mother. Didn’t she die in his birthing bed? But she knew what it was to dream of a mother who was gone. He reached his hand towards her slowly and she let him put his hand in hers. He smiled at her and she realized that Margaery was right, he really was a good looking man and she wouldn’t trade her husband for Margaery’s for all the gold in Westeros.

“Thank you for your concern Sansa.” he said and the tone of his voice, gravelly and deep, said almost more than the words themselves at how touched he was by her simple words of care.

“Of course, my Lord. I am your wife and it is my duty to care for you.” she said primly.

“Yes, of course. You are a fine and dutiful wife Sansa. I couldn’t ask for better.” Tyrion replied sincerely but some of the warmth had left his voice.

He started to pull his hand from hers, but she held in firmly. “More importantly you are my friend.”

He looked shocked and pleased at her words and a smile lit up his face. “As you are mine.” Tyrion said, causing Sansa to smile shyly.

Neither knew that this would be the last words they would exchange for years and the conversation would often haunt them both.

* * *

  
  


Tyrion held Sansa’s hand through the entirety of the monstrous tableau of the War of the Five Kings portrayed by the dwarven actors. He knew the entire display was for his humiliation but he could care less about himself. However, the stricken look on Sansa’s face as she watched her dead brother being mocked was more than he could bear.

So he fell into Joffrey’s trap, and let the act provoke him even if it was not for the reasons the King had intended. Words fell sharply from his tongue awakening the boy king’s ire. This was not the plan. They were  _ supposed  _ to keep a low profile and leave as quickly as they thought they could without being noticed.

It was only when Joffrey started choking that they realized how far their plan had gone off course. And also when both of their soulmarks blazed back to life.

* * *

  
  
  


The burning pain caused Sansa to unsnap the cuff as the word  _ LEAVE  _ screamed at her running vertically down her arm instead of across as it usually did, undeterred by the letters she had carved herself. Panic filled her as Ser Dontos grabbed her hand, the disgraced knight now fool whose life she saved who had so sweetly given her the necklace she wore now in gratitude. “If you want to live we have to leave.” he implored her and she instinctively knew he was right as at the same moment Cersei started screaming for Tyrion to be arrested.

They ran sure-footed, swift, and quietly from the feast, Sansa wrapping her distinctive hair in a cloak the fool provided. They fled down deserted alleys and switchbacks as the bells tolled out and she knew they were sounding the alarm. They were looking for her. 

He took them to a rowboat and urged her on board. She turned her head for one last look back at the city that had robbed her of everything. But in those final moments all she could think of was the husband she had abandoned. “Forgive me.” she whispered into the fog as they rowed off to whatever destiny awaited her next.

* * *

  
  


Tyrion’s soulmark had been less vehement than his wife’s in that moment. All it had said was  _ Watch.  _ So he did. He watched his nephew choke to death and the blood pour from his nose. He watched himself pick up the wine cup, poisoned he could now conclude. He watched his sister turn to him, her eyes full of rage, screaming for his arrest. He watched his brother run to save his King, his nephew, his son. He watched his wife flee, without a glance back, leaving him behind. He watched the Gold Cloaks (the City  _ Watch  _ he mused to himself) slap manacles on his wrists and haul him to the Black Cells.

And because he was a Lannister, he was not taken to the darkest cells but one with a window on the bay. Where he watched as the moon rose, the ship that was to be the means of his and Sansa’s escape sail over the horizon without either of them on board.

  
  
  
  


And thus his Watch was over.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback! I would love to give all of you hugs for the boost of serotonin your comments give me!


	4. Chapter 4

Petyr Baelish was an excellent liar. A true maester in the arts of deception, deceit, trickery, and duplicity.

Sansa had learned a lot from him (intended or not) in her time under his tutelage. In fact she had learned well enough to fool the Lords and Ladies of the Vale about the truth of what happened to her Aunt. She had hedged her bets to place her life in the hands of a man whose motivation she knew rather than trusting the motives of those she didn’t. 

So Petyr was a liar and now so was she. A fact that her soulmark seemed to agree with it as it burned the word she had carved in her flesh all night long after her act of dishonesty. Burned it out her skin in fact, leaving a slightly pink but blank canvas behind. She still chose to wear the bracelet Tyrion gave her, but she altered it so that the Lannister sigil was gone along with the jewels and the Stark sigil was now placed on the outside. It made her think of her family, of who she really was. She was a Stark, a wolf, not a little bird or little dove or a _Lannister_.

And sometimes late at night in her big empty bed, she thought of the husband she used to share it with.

* * *

  
  


_Witch_

Tyrion stared at the word, and then at the red priestess below that was staring at him intently. Most of him wanted to ignore the summons from his soulmark, but he felt more lost than ever since he escaped King’s Landing murdering both his former lover and his father as he fled. _(He would never forget the heartache as the word “Witness” tormented him during Shae’s testimony against him. But it was only when the word “Whore” appeared as he entered his father’s quarters that fateful night, that he understood the true soul rending feeling of betrayal._ ) As the crowd dispersed, she beckoned him to follow with a slight tilt of her head and headed down the narrow alleyway. With a glance to a frowning Varys, who had noticed him reacting to his soulmark, he followed.

He found her sitting on a bench outside a hovel that housed the acolytes of the Lord of Light. The priestess regarded him thoughtfully as he sat and then abruptly pushed his sleeve up wrapping her hand around his soulmark. She stared vacantly in the distance. “You are far from home.” 

Tyrion snorted. It took no divine power to discern that he was not Volantene. “I have no home. Not anymore.”

“Of course you do. It is where you will find _her.”_ She said turning and speaking to him as she would a slow child.

“Her?” He said in a whisper. “The Dragon Queen?”

“Foolish little lion man. Your destiny and the Dragon Queen’s are intertwined, but not in that way.” She looked at him in a way so haunting it was as if his soul was laid bear to her. “Do not despair, all is unfolding as it should. You are as far from her here” she said gesturing at the city “and here” she said laying her hand on his heart, “as you shall ever be. Everything from here on out, will lead you back to her.”

She stood and turned to head in the doorway. “I believe there is somewhere you are supposed to be.”

Bewildered, he watched the word _Whorehouse_ appear, scrawled across his wrist. When he looked up the priestess was gone.

It was days later, sailing on a moonless night while a prisoner of an ill tempered Northman, that he had time to ponder the meaning of the witch’s words. What exactly did she mean by “back to her”? Back to who?

* * *

Ramsay Snow, now legitimized as a Bolton, did not have a soulmark. Sansa assumed that was because he did not in fact have a soul. He did however have a devoted paramour that matched him in malice and cruelty. Sansa was relieved when Theon pushed her to her death from Winterfell’s ramparts.

But now they had to go, had to run. Only death awaited them here as Ramsay’s vengeance would be mighty. 

So they did the only thing they could do and what her soulmark advised her to do. 

_LEAP._

Which they did, hand in hand over Winterfell’s outer wall into the unknown.

* * *

  
  


The intervening years for both Sansa and Tyrion brought little in the way of guidance from their soulmarks. A fact that neither of them thought much about. Sansa was busy garnering support to overthrow the Bolton’s with her bastard brother and reclaim her home. Tyrion was busy trying to govern a foreign city in the throes of civil unrest in the absence of his new Queen.

But they did think about each other, most often alone in their beds in the small hours of the night. They wondered what befell the other, if they were alive, if they were safe. What their lives might have been if they had only made it to that ship.

If they would ever see each other again and what that conversation might look like.

Even with a network as vast as Varys’s little birds, the distance between the remote North of wartorn Westeros and Mereen was just too far for word of each other to reach their ears.

So time marched on, as it always does, with nothing but memories of the other.

Until one day, a gelded kraken washed up on the Meereenese shore. 

* * *

  
  


Tyrion made no secret of his disdain for the Greyjoy boy. He had been an arrogant little shit at Winterfell who had gone on to betray Robb Stark by invading Winterfell and murdering his young foster brothers. Theon claimed that wasn’t the case (the Stark boys were alive at least) and admitted to some of his crimes but Tyrion wasn’t fully convinced that the meek man in front of him wasn’t just for show. 

The sister however was a different story. He could tell his Queen liked her immediately (and Yara definitely _liked_ his Queen.) The ships they offered and the deal they struck was a stroke of good fortune. Tyrion also liked Yara if for no other reason that she could match him drink for drink. It was during one such late night drinking session that she mentioned something about Theon escaping from the Boltons at Winterfell with the “Stark girl” before he joined her at the Kingsmoot. Even in his wine induced haze, he zeroed in on the name “Stark.”

“Which Stark girl? Arya or Sansa?” Tyrion said intensely, pounding his goblet on the table.

Yara blew her hair out of her face, as she screwed it up in thought. “Must be the second one you said. I’d remember if her name sounded like mine.”

“Where is he now?” Tyrion demanded as anger (at Theon and himself) sobered him up quickly. The Iron Fleet had arrived over a fortnight ago and this whole time Theon had information about Sansa. 

He found Theon in his quarters aboard the Fleet’s flagship where, despite it being the middle of night, he was wide awake. He muttered something about not sleeping well these days.

Without preamble Tyrion launched into his questions with an angry desperate tremor in his voice “You were with Sansa Stark at Winterfell?” 

“Yes, my Lord.” he said with deference and without making eye contact. He looked as if he was prepared to be beaten, but showed no willingness to defend himself. For the first time Tyrion believed that this Theon was a vastly different creature from the one he knew before if he was frightened of an angry dwarf.

“Did you know she is my wife?” Tyrion asked more gently.

“Was, my Lord. She married my mas..she married Ramsey Bolton at Winterfell. Lord Baelish said your marriage was invalid.”

“We will circle back to how that conniving fiend is involved later. Yara said you escaped Winterfell. You were both prisoners, I take it then?”

“Prisoners is a gentle term for what we both were. We were as much a prisoner as a mouse is to a cat.” With a sigh Theon pulled off his glove, where Tyrion was shocked to see a hand missing several fingertips. “Ramsey had a fondness for knives.”

“Gods!” Tyrion choked out. “Sansa? Did he do that to her?” His heart dropped at the thought.

“He needed her for her name and the children she could give him. It wouldn’t do well to showcase his cruelty to the other Northern Lords, but he found other ways to hurt her.” Theon said as his words turned thick. “He made me watch sometimes.”

Tyrion sat in stunned silence unable to form a coherent thought as a tidal wave of grief and rage threatened to consume him. He hung his head low between his hands until he finally found the strength to ask “Where is she now? Is she safe?”

“On her way to Jon at the Wall when we parted. A woman warrior named Brienne of Tarth and her squire saved us from Ramsey’s men. I promise you my Lord I would not have left her alone if I did not believe her safe.”

“I know the woman of whom you speak. She had pledged herself to Lady Catelyn. Was the squire a quiet boy named Podrick?’

“Yes my Lord.”

Tyrion was relieved to hear that Podrick was also safe. Sending him off with Lady Brienne had been a brilliant move on his brother’s part. “She is in very good hands then. That boy was my squire once, believe it or not, and saved my life.” He studied Theon. “Why did you not tell me any of this when you arrived?”

“If I recall, you didn’t want to hear anything I had to say.” Theon said and for a split second there was a flash of the old Theon in his eyes. “Plus, I knew her regard for you, but I did not know your current regard for her.”

“How do you mean?” Tyrion said his curiosity piqued at the thought of Sansa speaking about him.

“On their wedding night, Ramsey asked if Sansa was still a virgin. She responded that you were a kind, gentle man that never touched her. But according to rumor, she also left you to die for killing your nephew, a crime you claim to be innocent of.” He studied Tyrion. “So I had to ask myself, are you still that kind, gentle man who only cares for her welfare or are you a bitter, jilted husband hellbent on tracking down the wife that left you?” He stood and paced back and forth in the small cabin. “I wasn’t sure which way you felt until now.”

“Sansa was my friend...is my friend. Even if the marriage was a sham.” Tyrion stuttered. She was more than that, so much more and he could practically feel the weight of the cloak in his hands as he had brought her under his protection. For a time that weight had felt like a burden, but now he recognized it for the privilege it was.

“I can see that now, but can you blame me for protecting her in what small ways I can when I couldn’t help her when she needed me the most?”

Of course Tyrion understood. Had he not been in the same position himself?

* * *

  
  
Dragonstone was a hard, unforgiving place. All hard sharp edged rocks with towering cliffs that were battered by violent crashing waves.

It was the physical embodiment of it’s humorless former Lord, Stannis Baratheon.

Daenerys had been born here but it felt more like home in some ways to Tyrion. The call of the gulls (when the dragons were off hunting) and the sounds of the sea especially upon waking would make him think he was back in Casterly. So much so that sometimes he would reach for Sansa, lost in his dream that they had made it safely to his ancestral home.

But then he would open his eyes and she wasn’t there. The only consolation being that he had learned that Jon and Sansa had taken back Winterfell from the Bolton bastard with the help of the Vale knights, wildlings(?), and bannermen like the Mormonts that were still loyal to House Stark.

Tyrion was happy that Sansa was finally home but a petty part of him wished it was him rather than her brother that had secured it for him. 

But he was no warrior, no hero, no knight. Nor a King or Prince. Just a dwarf with a sharp mind and sharper tongue. An amusing side character in the story of her life. No doubt, one of the handsome knights of the Vale was wooing her now or she had found her soulmate in one of the Northman that had fought for her home. He had no doubt she would find him.

If anybody deserved the fairy tale ending, it was Sansa Stark.

As for himself, he sometimes dwelled on the witch’s words about his soulmate when he was deep in his cups. ( _Back to whom? Tysha? He wasn’t sure if she was either alive or if he’d even recognize her after all these years. If she were alive and sane she’d run at the site of any dwarf. Mostly she was a ghost that haunted him, an apparition from another life._ ) Sometimes he thinks he imagined the conversation. But mostly he doubted he even had a soulmate and his soulmark was there to guide him to the service of others whose destiny was far greater than his own.

He was a side character in their great narrative as well and that had never been more evident when his Queen met Jon Snow, bastard born Stark, now King of the North.

* * *

  
  
When Jon arrived on the beach that day, he only allowed himself to ask about Sansa briefly. He was pleased from Jon’s comments to learn that Sansa had grown into the formidable woman he knew she would be. With a heavy heart, he doubted he would ever see it for himself. Perhaps when things were settled, Cersei deposed and Daenerys on the throne, he would write to her. Let her know that there was no ill will towards her or that he would not try to claim his runaway bride as Theon had feared. All he could do until then is assure her brother of the sham nature of their marriage.

The Dragon Queen was clearly making a display of power for the newly named King when they entered the Dragonstone throne room that day. _(Honestly Tyrion had seen both thrones, and the giant one hune out of black rock from the bowels of the earth was far more intimidating than that ugly iron chair._ ) Gone were the light, flowing dresses of Mereen and in their place black wool with leather corsets. He saw Jon’s eyes go wide at his first glance of Daenerys Targaryen and assumed like most men it was a combination of her beauty and power that overwhelmed him. 

It was so, so, so much more than that.

( _Many years ago Tyrion had attended the wedding of the son of a minor vassel. One that Tywin did not much care for, so Tyrion was sent as Lannister representative as an underhanded insult to the Lord. Tyrion expected it to be a dull affair, but it proved to be the most talked about wedding of the year when the bride and the groom’s younger brother proved to be soulmates at first sight halting the wedding immediately. It was quite the scandal, but in time the two soulmates were wed and a cousin or maybe a younger sister was found for the elder boy to marry._

_What Tyrion remembers most was the look of shock on their faces that transformed into joy as the two strangers, now soulmates, locked eyes onto each other. The expressions of wonder as they touched hands and read each other's marks. It wasn’t a common thing to know each other at first glimpse and definitely not in such a dramatic fashion. Soulmate revelations were usually a private affair. Tyrion doubted he would ever be witness to such a display again._ )

What he beheld now, as ice met fire, put that display to shame. It was a mere candle compared to the rising sun. 

Jon clutched his arm and staggered, his eyes never leaving hers. He hurriedly threw off his glove and pushed the sleeve of his coat back, his jerky movements alarming the Dothraki guards that growled and moved towards him. A sharp word from Daerneys stopped them. Confused she glanced at Missandei, before she too clutched her arm and a sharp cry somewhere between pain and ecstasy escaped her lips. Her head whipped around to meet Jon’s and they just started at each other in disbelief.

Slowly she stood and walked down the steps, rolling her sleeve up her arm. ( _Tyrion realized he had never seen her soulmark before as she always wore jewelry in Meereen or long sleeves now in the West. He assumed like most Targaryens, who traditionally intermarried, she didn’t have one. Although there had been some rumors about her eldest brother involving a late blooming soulmark leading to his obsession with Lyanna Stark_.) Finally, face to face with each other she held her arm out to him. He looked at it and read “Direwolf” in a deep voice strangled with thick emotion. She reached for his arm pulling it to her chest. “Dragon” she said, her voice trembling and in that moment the regal Queen was gone and she was just Daenerys the woman.

“It’s you.” she said in awe, caressing his face tenderly.

“It’s us.” he said as a smile lit up his face before Jon pulled his soulmate into his arms and kissed her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. 

It was a beautiful scene fit for the great stories Sansa loved at least when she believed in soulmates. It almost made him believe that he would find his soulmate someday.

But alas he was just a side character in everybody’s life, never a leading man. After all in what story does the dwarf get the maiden and live happily ever after?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left! (And then I PROMISE to go back to the "Love is Blind" trope fic.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm a dirty liar and this will not be the last chapter of this fic. Good news/Bad news I guess??

Tyrion was alive.

It was a fact that only fully occurred to her as she sunk her weary bones into a hot bath that night. Of course she recognized that when she read his raven scroll, ( _ and Gods there was a certain amount of shame that it was Jon who confirmed his identity. They had been married for pity’s sake _ !) but the ramifications were just now surfacing and popping in her brain like the soap bubbles in her bath.

They had just started to become friends, a tenuous trust before she left. A trust that was no doubt long gone. While she knew he hadn’t murdered Joffrey, he had still murdered his father and if some rumors were to be believed, his lover, in his flight from King’s Landing. It was hard to believe the kind, gentle, man that cloaked her was capable of such things. But then again, she fed her second husband to his hounds. People changed and perhaps the people they had become could no longer be friends.

The thought troubled her more than she liked.

There was no question in her mind that Jon would go to Dragonstone. Daenerys’s combined army and her dragons, were the exact miracle they needed to battle the dead. However, the price was very high. It would be smarter to send an emissary, most likely herself, to represent the Northern interests. Tyrion wouldn’t harm her, of that she was sure, so she did not fear for her safety but she’d be lying to herself if she said there wasn’t some fear in seeing him again. Tyrion was likely devoted to his Queen, and if she sensed some advantage in him reclaiming his wayward bride, she was afraid of what may happen. ( _ Not that he would want to claim her for more than her name, she thought as she scrubbed her body thoroughly, never quite feeling clean anymore. The scars that littered her body were proof of her ruination at Ramsey’s hand. No man would want her, which was fortunate as she wanted no man to touch her again.) _

It mattered not though. Jon would declare his intention to go to Dragonstone soon. She wasn’t blind to the way he rubbed his soulmark all day. Defying a Queen’s summons was one thing, but when his soulmark was also telling him to go, it was clearly destiny. Sansa wondered what it said to him,  _ Dragonstone? Daenerys? Dragon? _

She didn’t ask and he didn’t volunteer. In the end it didn’t matter, the effect was the same. Jon left her alone with Littlefinger but he also left her in charge. To  _ Lead  _ as her soulmark told her.

So she did.

* * *

  
  
Bran returned to her first, not long after Jon departed with Arya not too far behind. They were both strange creatures to her, a preternatural being and an assassin. But they were Starks and a pack so she ultimately knew where to place her trust. Littlefinger was a fool to think otherwise. Trying to pit her against Arya as he did her mother and Aunt was his downfall.

But she had  _ Learned _ all his misdeeds with the help of Bran’s sight, once she figured out his true motivations. She was a slow learner but she had learned in the end. Littlefinger had too. She had seen the realization in his eyes at how badly he had underestimated her in the moments before Arya slit his throat.

_ (LIAR her soulmark declared for the final time as his blood seeped into the stones of the Great Hall. She had a feeling the stain of his words and actions on her soul would take much longer to remove than the blood stain spreading at her feet.) _

* * *

  
  


The ride to Winterfell was cold and miserable with Tyrion now having a greater understanding of what true Winter was like in the North. He hated riding in the wagon even with Varys’s company. Preferring to ride when he could (On horseback he was as tall as any man. He knew how important that could be and is why he painstakingly designed that saddle for Bran Stark.) especially in the cold when the heat of the mount under him provided warmth. Alas, he had no saddle fit to accommodate him so he was forced in the wagon, making him feel small in a different way then his body normally did.

There were many things making him feel small and useless these days. Ever since Jon had arrived, he had fallen by the wayside as the two soulmates bonded and planned for the wars to come. He didn’t resent Jon so much as himself. All his plans had failed, the siege on Casterly Rock, the Ironborn attack. Jaime had brilliantly outwitted him and Tyrion chastised himself for thinking he could fool him in the field of battle. Although, how he stayed with their sister after all the atrocities she had committed was still beyond him even if she did claim to be with his child.

It was easy to spot Sansa in the courtyard of Winterfell, tall and regal, her hair a river of fire in stark contrast to Daenerys’s silver locks. He was just exiting the wagon, when the introductions were brought to an abrupt halt with a sharp rebuke from a young man in a wheelchair that could only be Bran Stark. 

Taking heed they all swiftly headed into the great hall. In the shuffle, Tyrion observed Sansa reach for her wrist ( _ one advantage to being small is that sometimes people thought they were subtly doing things out of sight when in truth they were in plain view for someone of his height) _ . She removed a leather bracelet that looked suspiciously like the one he gave her, causing his heart to leap in his chest. His own had been taken from him by the guards before he escaped King’s Landing. Whatever it said must have startled her, because she faltered half a step before continuing, her eyes sweeping the people in the courtyard. He averted his eyes quickly, not wanting her to know he had seen her reaction with so many eyes upon them.

Later, after some long and argumentative meetings from a parapet overlooking the fields housing the armies gathered, she found him. He had been watching Jon and Daenerys touring the camps. They were a vision of perfect symmetry, fire and ice. Being with Jon had calmed her more impulsive urges in a way her advisors including himself couldn’t making her a more thoughtful leader. Her influence on Jon was more subtle, more of a sharpening of a finely crafted blade. Plus Jon smiled a lot more he chuckled to himself, although the noises that came from their tent at night probably had a lot to do with that. He was happy for them, truly he was, it was just...

“My Lord.” a familiar feminine voice said beside him, a bit deeper and more confident than he remembered.

“My Lady.” he said in reply, still not looking directly at her. He was nervous enough at this meeting, he didn’t also need to be blinded by her beauty to keep his wits about him.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see her cock her head studying the couple below before issuing a giant sigh. “Jon told me in a raven scroll that he bent the knee. That he gave up his crown for the greater good, to save the North, to save  _ mankind.”  _ He could feel her eyes on him now as she shifted her body to stare down at him. “I see he failed to tell me the whole story.” she said gesturing down below. “My foolish brother had gone and fallen in love with your Dragon Queen.” she said a little bitterly. “She is quite beautiful, I can see that but we elected him  _ King _ and he bent the knee without consulting his bannermen or his family.” Her voice broke on the last word.

“Sansa,” he said gently. “Jon is probably waiting to speak with you and your siblings in private but rest assured this is more than an infatuation.” Turning to face her at last, she arched an eyebrow in question. It was no secret that the two were soulmates among Daenerys’s people and the way gossip worked it would soon be common knowledge among the Northerners as well. This information should have come from Jon but casting his eyes down on both his Queen and the soldiers below, the man was a bit distracted. Deciding it was best she heard it from him, a quasi-friend, rather than a random bit of gossip he said “They are soulmates. They knew the moment they lay eyes on each other.” He paused in memory smiling as he heard laughter from below. Jon was in the enthusiastic embrace of a husky wildling with ginger hair and Daenerys was giggling at the sight. “It was like the stories you used to love so much. I wish you could have seen it.”

For a full minute, Sansa said nothing as a series of emotions crossed her face, too subtle for most to notice, but then again he had spent many an hour surreptitiously studying her face during their marriage. She relaxed her spine somewhat. “This changes things.”

“Yes.” Tyrion agreed. Daenerys was no longer a conquering Queen in Sansa’s mind, but a future goodsister. If they took the iron throne from Cersei, they would rule together and the North would be in safe hands.

She gave a small bark of laughter, covering her lush pink mouth with her soft gray gloves in astonishment. She shook her head in amazement, “To think..” she laughed again fiddling with her bracelet and rubbing her soulmark below.

“What is it my Lady?” he asked, eyeing the bracelet and confirming it was in fact the one he had given her to cover her scar all those years ago, just altered so the wolf was on the outside where it belonged.

“Years ago when King Robert came to Winterfell, my soulmark told me a word as the party entered the keep. The same word appeared after the Queen’s party arrived.” Sansa explained.

“ _ Love _ ” Tyrion said in a quiet voice remembering their first conversation.

Sansa looked at him, shock all over her exquisite face. “Yes, back then I thought it meant Joffrey and today I was fool enough…” she paused with a sigh. Tyrion remembered the way she cast her eyes about looking. Looking for her soulmate he surmised, pleased to see that perhaps the Lady of Winterfell still had some Sansa Stark left in her yet. “Anyway, now I know it was telling me about these two lovebirds.”

“Perhaps.” Tyrion replied. “Or perhaps not. A whole army of men just encamped on your front door and only half of them are eunuchs.” he joked. “I wouldn’t give up on your soulmate just yet.” She gave him a disapproving glance, but smiled nevertheless.

“And how about you? Any progress on your part?” Sansa asked.

“My soulmark guided me into her Grace’s service and has been quiet since. I think I am serving my soul's purpose and I am at peace with that.” He lied in the practiced manner of one that wanted to believe what he was saying while also neglecting to say anything about the priestesses strange comments. The truth was the quiet disturbed him now that he was back in Westeros. There was a small part of him that wanted to believe what the witch had said and every day that past in his home country without a word out of his soulmark confirmed that the words were a llie.

They stood in companionable silence for several minutes. Snow started falling heavily and a shivering Tyrion excused himself looking for warmth in a flask of wine next to a fire. Just as he was about to step through the doorway, she called after him. “You remembered that?”

“Remembered what?” he inquired, closing the door and walking back to her.

“What my soulmark said?” she asked quietly.

“Of course,” he said gently, taking her hand to admire the bracelet he had given her so long ago. “I remember everything.” he said his voice husky and full of more emotion than he wanted to show.

“I remember too.” she said. Removing the bracelet to reveal the scar it covered to be long gone. “This bracelet reminds me of the friend that gave it to me.” She paused. “At least, I hope he’s still my friend. I’m afraid my absence may have hurt him.” she said meaningfully as his eyes dared to drift up and meet her own.

“Always,” Tyrion said gazing in her eyes. “He will always be your friend.”

* * *

The next few days found Tyrion and Sansa working closely together. Sometimes in large council meetings, and sometimes pouring over ledgers. At night they shared stories by the fire, sometimes with their friends and family, but often alone catching up on their years apart.

Jaime and his big mouth were the first to notice it. ( _ His brother was not a stupid man, in fact he was annoying astute and despite their years of separation knew him better than anyone. Tyrion had never been more surprised when his brother had appeared broken-hearted at Winterfell’s gate without the Lannister Army. And he had never been more relieved when Jaime was granted pardon due in part to Lady Brienne’s staunch defense and thus Sansa’s. A small part of him wondered if their friendship also influenced Sansa’s decision to spare his beloved brother.) _

“You’ve got a thing for Lady Stark.” Jaime said that last fateful evening, as they sat by the fire waiting for the dead to arrive. If there was any night for the airing of truths, it was the night that death was at your doorstep Tyrion pondered to himself. Tyrion didn’t bother to reply, Jaime wasn’t done yet. People who accused Tyrion of the inability to shut up had never spent time with his brother. “I thought in the dragon pit, maybe you had a thing for Daenerys, a powerful Queen of legendary beauty that rides dragons and frees the oppressed. But when I got here I find you spend all your time with your former bride, and when she’s not around, like tonight, you get all mooney and quiet. Where is she anyway?” he asked.

“With Theon.” he said evenly. Sansa had been overjoyed at her foster brother’s return to the point that Tyrion wondered if their relationship was more than familial. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous. He was, but Jaime didn’t need to know that. “Where’s your Warrior Woman brother? Being courted by that loud wildling fellow?” Two could play at that game if that’s how Jaime wanted to do it.

Jaime flushed bright red and was about to retort when Brienne and Podrick joined them by the fire. They were soon joined by Ser Davos and Tormund who immediately eyed Brienne with a mixture of lust and admiration.

Drinking more than he should have, but not as much as he wanted, Tyrion accidentally called Lady Brienne ‘Ser.’ The ultimate effect of this little slip of the tongue was watching Jaime balk against tradition and knight Lady Brienne himself. Ser Brienne of Tarth, first woman knight of the Seven Kingdoms, arose from the floor and beamed happily at the small audience gathered applauding her. Still smiling, she pulled back her sleeve in a gesture well known to those checking their soulmark. 

“ _ Knight _ , it says  _ knight _ .” whispered Jaime horsley as he staggered back a step in shock, his eyes riveted to the “K” on Brienne’s wrist.

Brienne’s lovely smile faded as she turned to stare at Jaime in shock, who was desperately pulling at the straps of his golden hand dropping it to the floor with a clang in an effort to reveal his own somewhat mangled soulmark. Almost frantic he thrust his stump out to her, “Brienne, please...please tell me what it says.” in a choked voice that was more a sob.

“ _ Wench,”  _ she said, sounding almost annoyed “really Jaime..” Her head snapped up as the realization came crashing down upon her and a tidal wave of different emotions washed over her face. “Jaime” she said again softly in awe staring into his eyes.

“We need to go.” whispered Ser Davos as he grabbed Tyrion’s shoulder snapping him out of his reverie. They grabbed a dumbstruck Pod, and the three of them managed to usher a forlorn Tormund to the nearest exit.

“My Lady Knight is soul bonded to that one-handed fucker?” he wailed mournfully as Tyrion closed the door behind him, but not before seeing his brother gather his long awaited Warrior Woman in his arms, kissing her tenderly.

* * *

  
  


“You should be with your woman half-man.” Tormund advised Tyrion as they walked towards the courtyard. Podrick and Davos had gone looking for another warm fire while Tormund had appeared to recover quickly from his broken heart and was looking for some food. Tyrion decided to join him as a flimsy excuse to look for Sansa. “Death is coming for us all.”

“My Queen is with Jon. I don’t think they are looking for a threesome.” Tyrion joked.

Tormund chortled. “No,  _ your  _ woman _.”  _ he repeated “The little crow’s sister. The one kissed by fire.”

“She’s not my woman.”

Tormund eyed him skeptically. “Heard she was your wife.”

“ _ Was  _ being the correct word.” Tyrion replied. “Not anymore.” he said softly, finally spotting Sansa eating with Theon. Their heads were bent close together and it all looked extremely intimate and Tyrion’s foolish heart crumbled at the sight.

“Huh.” Tormund grunted. “They told me you were a clever one. Can’t be too clever if you let a woman like that go.”

The wildling was right. But none of that mattered now. A horn started to blow. The horn would blow three times, but Tyrion already knew the message as the word  _ “Wights”  _ appeared along his wrist.

  
  
  
  


The dead were here.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. I was trying to balance this with my other fic, but then in a fit of insanity I started a Christmas themed fic with my time off around the holidays delaying this further. (I'm rather in love with the premise and have decided it will be a multi-chapter fic that I will hopefully finish in time to publish next Christmas.)
> 
> Thank you for any and all of your comments and kudos! I treasure them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After I updated my last chapter, I received a comment that I had "stolen" this idea from another author which sent me into an enormous tailspin. Turns out after reading this other fic (which is very good btw "Anima Dannum" by motorbike_on_the_avenue), I realized that this commentor must be a newbie to fanfic because they didn't realize that soulmarks are a trope (although under utilized in the GOT fandom) as the fics had nothing in common other than that.
> 
> I reached out to the other author who was very gracious as well as getting some awesome support from fellow Sanrion friends as I had a bit of a breakdown. So I guess the lesson learned is for every nasty interaction in fandom, there are a hundred good ones.

Tyrion had not planned on spending the battle in the crypts despite what Daenerys had told him. He had been patronized enough due to his stature, even if it was done with the best of intentions, to recognize it for what it was. Her Grace didn’t need him. Even if by some miracle they did survive, she could take King’s Landing without him. Between Varys, Jon, and hells, even Sansa, they’d be fine and defeat his bitch of a sister.

And he’d be damned if he dies cowering in a tomb. He was no stranger to battle and planned to be at Jaime’s (right) side until the end. Not that he told Jaime this for fear of being drugged and chained to some Stark tomb by his overprotective elder brother.

He’d join Jaime, but only after he knew Sansa was safe. Like a beacon in a storm, his eyes were drawn to her as she said a tearful goodbye to both Bran and Theon who headed for the Gods’ woods. She climbed the walls to Arya’s position, and he felt the hair rise on the back of his neck as the minutes crept by where she did not return. Worried, he followed her and found her arguing with Arya.

“Get down to the crypts.” Arya said sternly.

“I’m not abandoning my people!” Sansa protested loudly, but Tyrion could hear the fear in her voice.

“I can’t worry about you and the dead Sansa. Go.” Arya spotted Tyrion then. “Lord Tyrion will escort you.” She thrust a dragonglass dagger in Sansa’s hand. “Stick anything without a pulse with the pointy end.”

“She’s right.” Tyrion said, realizing at Arya’s words how selfish and somewhat egotistical his desire to fight by his brother’s side was. “We are not warriors Sansa. Those we love can’t protect us and themselves. We are nothing but a liability and a distraction and that’s the bitter truth.”

He grabbed her hand and pleaded with her “And you’re not abandoning your people as a good portion of them are heading for the crypt. They need you to lead them.” 

She squeezed his hand and gave a curt nod of acquiescence. “Very well.” she said in a trembling voice. “At least this time I’ll have my favorite Lannister to keep me company during battle rather than your horrid, drunk sister.”

“My Lady, that almost sounded like a compliment!” 

“What can I say? You are the best of them.” she said sincerely with a hint of a sad smile.

A thick knot formed in Tyrion’s throat at her words and he found himself too overcome with emotion to form a witty retort. Instead he just gave her an incredulous look, but held her hand tightly all the way to the crypt. He never wanted to let it go. But should they survive this night, he knew he would have to.

Her soulmate was out there somewhere. 

Lucky bastard.

* * *

Tyrion guided her to the crypts. Even though this was her home, a panic gripped her and she wasn’t sure she would have made it without him. But somehow his hand in hers kept the fear from overwhelming her. She took one last look at the brave men and women in the courtyard and on the walls. Death was coming to take all of them. How many would survive? Would any of them? 

With a loud bang, the doors to the crypt were barred and sealed shut. She glanced down at Tyrion in the gloom. Most likely they would all die that night but she knew she wasn’t alone. Tyrion was by her side.

The thought gave her far more comfort than she expected. She stopped suddenly before they could join the others because she wanted, no needed, him to understand what she had said earlier. “When I said you are the best of them, I didn’t just mean Lannisters. I meant all of them. Every man not of my blood that I’ve met, past or present, I’ve compared to you and they’ve all fallen short.” 

He laughed at that, a deep sound that resonated through her body down to her toes making them curl. “Was that a dwarf joke, my Lady?”

She chuckled which felt odd to her under the circumstances. “It wasn’t meant to be, but I liked hearing you laugh.” She didn’t add “ _ probably for the last time _ ” but they both understood the implications. “But I did mean what I said.”

The torchlight caused his eyes to glisten for a second. “What a terrifying thought.” He mumbled before turning his head but she swore she saw a blush creeping out from under his beard. “I must introduce you to a better quality of men.”

“If we get out of this alive, I may hold you to that.” Sansa said, melancholy lacing her tone.

“I’ve grown tired of waiting for a soulmate that I don’t believe exists. I want a marriage, and children if the gods are willing. Or maybe I’ve been thinking about this all wrong. What if soulmates aren’t  _ found  _ but they’re  _ made _ ? Like my parents.” She paused smiling down at him “I could think of no one I trust more than you to find me a suitable match. Bran might be slightly helpful with his greensight, but Jon would be clueless.” she said truthfully. 

The sparkle in his eyes dimmed during her speech. She was afraid she had overstepped the bounds of their friendship and was about to apologize when he took both her hands in his. He looked up at her almost shyly but underneath it was a smoldering intensity. “Or” he said almost choking on the word, “You could stay married to me.”

* * *

  
  


The literal specter of death at the gates is the only reason Tyrion could figure he was able to muster up the words to say something so foolish or brave (or foolishly brave). He scarcely believed the words that came out of his mouth, even if his heart was behind them. It appeared Sansa felt much the same as she stared at him in shock, her mouth dropped open slightly. Fortunately before she had time to gather her wits back about her and demurely and oh-so-politely reject him, a scraping of stone and the flicker of torchlight indicated they were no longer alone.

“There you two are. I was beginning to think you two weren’t coming.” Varys’s honeyed voice stated as it bounced off the wall of the tunnel. A subtle twitch of the corner of his mouth was the only indication that he knew he had interrupted something between the ex-spouses before him. 

Sansa quickly dropped his hands and addressed Varys, placing her mask of calm and leadership back in place. “How are my people?”

“Frightened as they should be. A little lost. Missandei and I are doing our best to quell the panic, but I think they would be far more comfortable once their Lady is with them.” Varys answered.

Sansa hurried ahead, carrying her own torch while Varys and Tyrion followed behind. He arched an eyebrow at Tyrion in question and Tyrion just scowled and shook his head vigorously. Varys shrugged before stating loudly enough for Sansa to hear “I hear congratulations are in order for your sworn sword Lady Stark.”

“How do you mean Lord Varys?” Sansa said slowing for them to catch up, but not stopping.

“Ser Jaime knighted Lady now Ser Brienne. The first woman knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“That’s wonderful!” Sansa replied.

“But that’s not all, it appears that their soulmarks revealed themselves immediately afterwards.” Tyrion just stared at Varys in disbelief. That had just happened an hour ago. How Varys already knew was astounding.

“Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne are soulmates?” Sansa questioned in disbelief and wonder. “She told me she was sure her soulmark was one of service to others. It never occurred to her that she had a match.” she said quietly.

Tyrion could practically hear her thoughts and he knew what scant hope he had that she might agree to be his wife was dashed to dust. If Lady no  _ Ser _ Brienne, who had never believed she had a soulmate, found her other half then Sansa who had prayed and wished so hard for hers to appear would not be satisfied with a marriage with anyone other than her soulmate despite what she had said earlier.

With what slight hope he had for a future if they lived utterly obliterated, Tyrion yanked the stopper of his wineskin out with his teeth and took a giant swig. He had promised himself he would not get drunk, but he needed something to get the bitter taste out of his mouth. Storming past Sansa towards the torchlight where the others had gathered he said flatly “Yes, it was all quite sweet and romantic. Hopefully, they live long enough to actually enjoy it! If not at least they found each other before the end. Unlike some of us.” he grumbled.

A wave of anger and grief overtook him as he stood feeling utterly alone at the end of the world, making his words suddenly cruel and biting as only a Lannister would. He raised his wineskin in a mock toast “To our soulmates Lady Stark! Too bad they didn’t bother to fucking show up before we all die hear tonight!” he laughed bitterly.

Tyrion had been so blinded by his own inner turmoil, he had scarcely noticed they had entered the large chamber full of scared women and children. All of whom stared at him in fear and horror as they had heard his bitter proclamation. Ashamed of his own childish outburst, he slunk off down an unoccupied tunnel while Sansa went to calm her people aiming a pointed look at his direction as she pushed past him.

* * *

  
  


Sansa tried to put Tyrion’s strange behavior out of her mind as she walked around the crypt visiting with her people. It surprised her to see how they gathered strength from her words, as worthless as they were with the battle raging overhead. Varys and Missandei also moved among them, the children flocking to Varys who had a gift in handling the older children, either due to his non threatening mannerisms or the frank and kind way he spoke to them. Missandei won over the younger mothers quickly with her ability to soothe fussy infants by singing to them quietly in High Valyrian. Tyrion was conspicuously absent and Sansa couldn’t decide if that made her more or less angry with him.

Sansa dropped down on a crate where Missandei joined her and they shared the wineskin Tyrion had dropped when he went off to sulk. They were quiet for a minute before Missandei spoke. “I’ve not seen Lord Tyrion act that way before. I’ve always found him to be a kind and thoughtful man.”

“Yes, he has always been kind to me.” Sansa replied. Which was why his words hurt so badly now she thought to herself. “I know he has a sharp tongue, usually when he’s in his cups.” she said flashing back to their dismal wedding feast. “ I just have never had it directed towards me.”

“Well we are at the end of the world my Lady, scared for our loved ones that are fighting above. We may be allowed to not act like ourselves.”

“True. But it doesn’t make the words less hurtful.” 

Missandei nodded, “I think it is hard for Lord Tyrion to not be part of the battle. He has the heart of a warrior even if his desire outways his abilities. I truly didn’t expect him to listen to our Queen, and I half expect she didn’t believe he would either.” She paused. “He can fight, I've seen it. He even saved my life once. There was a rebellion in Meereen, slavers who didn’t like the new order instituted by Daenerys. We were ambushed and one came at me with a knife. Lord Tyrion stabbed him from behind and slit his throat. My love was severely injured at the time and bed ridden, his heart grieved him that he was not able to fight for me or Daenerys.” She paused. “I suspect Lord Tyrion feels the same.”

“Then why didn’t he stay to fight?” Sansa asked.

“Would you be here if he didn’t escort you?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.” Sansa answered honestly. Would she have gone below or lied to Arya, only managing to get it somebody’s way?

Missandei didn’t reply, but let her eyes wander skyward while muttering what Sansa suspected was a prayer as a tremendous noise, as if the keep was collapsing above, shook the cavern. 

“The Unsullied Captain, Greyworm, he is your soulmate?” Sansa asked assuming that was whom she prayed for. 

“Soulmarks and soulmates are almost unheard of in Essos. But I do not need a mark on my wrist to tell me that I love Greyworm with all my heart and that he loves me in return. I think sometimes the Westerosi people have become so enamored of soulmarks that they forget what it is to just fall in love with somebody.” She paused again and smiled a little. “Although I must say watching their Graces meet and soulbond immediately was one of the more remarkable things I have witnessed.”

“I wish I had seen it. Tyrion told me it was something out of the stories I use to read.”

“He did?” she said. “That explains why his first reaction was to say ‘ _ I wish Sansa was here.’ _ ”

“He thought of me?”

“I do believe that Lord Tyrion thinks of you very often Lady Stark.” Missandi said with a half smile.

Sansa remembered how sweet he had been to her in King’s Landing, his thoughtfulness and kindness towards her despite the circumstances. How she had fought against trusting him, he was a  _ Lannister _ , he was one of  _ them _ , yet he treated her so kindly and never resented her for pushing him away. But slowly over the months of their sham marriage she had learned that it wasn’t a trick, that he was  _ different  _ from the other Lannisters, that he  _ wasn’t _ one of them. If he could be understanding and patient with her under those conditions, forgive her for her rejections of his friendship and the icy words she had hurled at him as she learned to trust him, then she could be understanding and forgiving when he had turned his frustrations towards her.

Words could wound, but in the end they were nothing but wind. Taking one more sip of wine, she stood and looked down the tunnel he had disappeared in. She would not let her friend be alone if the Stranger came.

* * *

  
  
Bogged down in his own misery, Tyrion didn’t realize for a good while that it was the honorable Ned Stark’s tomb that he had chosen to hide behind.

“Sorry Lord Stark, didn’t mean to disturb you.” he said maneuvering to see the statue that didn’t quite do justice to the man he remembered.

“I think you’d have been truly happy to never see my face again or any Lannister’s.” he stared at the man’s dour face. Perhaps, the sculpture did capture the man’s essence after all. “I won’t speak for all the ills that my family’s done to yours. It was beyond heinous. But I want you to know that I never touched Bran or Sansa for that matter. Hells, I even saved your lady wife’s life even though she held me prisoner for a crime I didn’t commit. I also gave your very bones to Lord Baelish to deliver to her. It was quite literally the least I could do once I followed in your footsteps as Hand.” The stone statue’s severe countenance looked unimpressed by Tyrion’s speech.

“I swear to you I did what I could to protect Sansa when she was my wife. A marriage that was in name only, I swear it by the old Gods and the new. I would have kept her safe until I could have delivered her back here to her family. And I live with the guilt of what happened to her when I failed to keep that promise.” Tyrion said, his voice breaking with emotion.

“I wish you could see her now Lord Stark. Your eldest daughter has grown into one of the most remarkable women I’ve ever met. Intelligent, kind, beautiful, a natural leader, and so strong. She has gone through so much since my vial nephew took your head and instead of it destroying her, it forged her into something fierce and unbreakable.”

“It’s no wonder why I think I’m in love with her.” he said quietly.

And that was the harsh truth of it all. He had fallen for her. Despite their soulmarks that split them apart, despite their family’s feud that plunged the kingdom into war, despite their age difference, he loved her.

Not that it meant a damn thing when it was unrequited and they would most likely not see the dawn. Still he owed her an apology for his outburst. But he had no idea how he would explain the proposal without revealing the contents of his poor battered heart.

He turned to find her at the same time she appeared at the far end of the tunnel. He hurried to her side. He gave her a tremulous style raking his hands through his hair in frustration and embarrassment. “I’m an ass. I’m sorry Sansa. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“No, you shouldn't have.” Sansa agreed sternly. “But don’t you see it doesn’t matter, none of it does. What matters is having somebody I care about to hold my hand if this is the end for us.” She wiped aside a tear that had escaped, the fear enough to melt her icy visage. But her iciness had never fooled him. He knew a warm and loving woman lay underneath.

“Sansa, I would be honored to hold your hand until the Stranger takes us.” Tyrion said gripping her outstretched hand and kissing it reverently.

They smiled at each other and Tyrion was so caught up in his emotions for this dynamic woman that it took him a second to realize the sound he was hearing was screaming. This was followed by scratching and inhuman screams from the tombs surrounding them as the dead started to rise. He felt the same icy feeling from earlier race up his arm and knew without looking what his soulmark was telling him. The  _ wights  _ were here, and they were sealed up with them.

* * *

  
  


They hid behind her father’s tomb. Tyrion seemed to think it safe there as it contained only his bones, no flesh or skin allowing a shape to animate. He clutched her hand tight to his chest, peering out to witness the carnage out in the corridor as the dead attacked the living. Sansa concentrated only on breathing as panic engulfed her. The edges of her vision grew splotchy and she realized she was seconds from hyperventilating and passing out. Desperately she looked at him and their eyes held. Without words, a thousand conversations played out between them. Things that otherwise may have never been communicated. The rawness of it all along with the visceral terror made her want to weep. But it also made her want to fight, want to live, to be able to fully explore what it meant.

With a feeling of certainly, she reached for her dagger with her shaking hand, pulling it to her chest. Tyrion watched her and with a single look of determination, drew his own blade before kissing her gloved hand with passion and fear. And with a nod of his head, they leapt into battle.

Fear and pain were no strangers to Sansa. But fighting in a battle was. She followed Tyrion’s lead, as he blazed a path before him, slaying the undead quickly and efficiently. One reached for him while he dispatched another and hand trembling, Sansa did as Arya instructed and stuck it in the back with the pointy end causing it to instantly dissolve the corpse into dust. With a new found confidence, Sansa went on the attack taking out as many as she could. Tyrion and her moved and attacked together in synchronicity, as if they had been fighting together for years.

They rounded up what survivors they could, directing them to the tunnel they had cleaned out behind them. It felt like for every soul they rescued, they heard another scream being silenced forever. Time took on no meaning and Sansa’s arm grew weary. After rescuing Missandei, little Sam, and Gilly and escorting them to safety, they collapsed behind another tomb whose occupant was long gone. Tyrion squeezed her hand and for a second she thought the tide may be turning.

Then she heard a low growl.

Sansa knew immediately, not only what it was, but who it was. A direwolf. But Ghost was above, Nymeria running wild in the Riverlands, and the other three direwolves bodies never made it home to Winterfell. Only one did.

Lady.

It was too much for her to bear. Lady had already been cruelly killed once, but to have to put her down again. She just couldn’t. She chewed on her lip in despair as the tears spilled down her face. Alarmed Tyrion, wiped them away a question in his eyes. The wolf growled again and Tyrion’s eyes widened as she watched him come to the same conclusion. “Lady?” he asked silently and she nodded in return. “I can't,” she mouthed in reply.

He nodded his head and they inched around the tomb, spying the undead wolf looking away from them. As they crypt out into the tunnel it must have sensed their movement and turned. Spotting Sansa, the once beautiful wolf now not much more than a rotten hide stretched over a skeleton, whined as if recognizing her. Jon said the dead held no memory of what they were when they were alive and were nothing but puppets of the Night King, but then again he thought that they would be safe in the crypts so she wasn’t so sure.

The skeletonized wolf suddenly started charging toward them and Sansa froze unable to act. Bravely, Tyrion stepped in front of her and was thrown on his back as the wolf pounced upon him, it’s sharp teeth reaching for his neck. Tyrion wrestled with the wolf for a minute and was finally able to pierce the hide with his dragonglass dagger. Sansa fell to the ground as the corpse dissolved to dust, crawling toward Tyrion who lay breathing heavily on the ground.

“Tyrion!” she cried in fear, cupping his face in her hands while checking him for any serious injuries.

He smiled at her a little dazed. “I’m okay Sansa.” he assured her, as they both slowly pulled themselves to their feet.

“You saved me. I froze and you saved me.” she said in disbelief.

“I may be small Sansa, but I will use every inch of me to protect those I love.” Tyrion replied looking at her softly.

Sansa’s confused heart stuttered at his declaration. What did he mean by that? Tyrion smiled at her sweetly and pulled her hand to his mouth, kissing the bare skin of her inner wrist, just below the band he gave her before their wedding. “I may not be your soulmate but if we survive this Sansa, I stand by the offer I made earlier if you’ll have me.”

It was at that moment, an inhuman shriek came from their left and a wight rushed them. Tyrion pushed Sansa out of it’s way before it lifted the small man by one arm crushing it in a vice like grip. Tyrion screamed in agonizing pain as he dangled in the air, his legs kicking helplessly. The corpse grinned evilly, before throwing Tyrion against the stone wall. His head hit the wall with a sickening thud, and he fell limply to the ground like a ragdoll.

Rage surged through Sansa’s body as grief and anger drove all the fear from her body leaving a cold deadly certainty. She launched herself at the wight with a scream dragging her dagger across its body. It shattered immediately and Sansa scrambled towards Tyrion dragging him into her lap. His right arm was bent at a grotesque angle and his eyes were closed. Carding her fingers through his curls, they came away slick with blood from a wound on the back of his head and her gentle probing caused his eyes to flutter open briefly.

Dazed, he stared up at her in wonder using his undamaged hand to reach up and touch her face. “I’m here Tyrion. I’m going to keep you safe until we can get you help.” she whispered.

He smiled but she could see a veil of darkness starting to close over his eyes. Voice breaking, she scolded him to make him stay awake. “Don’t you leave me here alone Tyrion Lannister.”

“Sansa,” he slurred, his eyes becoming unfocused. He grimaced in pain before whispering wistfully, “I wish we had made it onto that ship.” His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he lapsed into unconsciousness in her arms.

A minute later, cheers of victory erupted throughout the crypts of Winterfell as the dead collapsed one by one, the Night King defeated. But they barely registered to Sansa over her wails for help as Tyrion fought his own battle against the Stranger.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love a good cliff hanger if you haven't read any of my other stuff, but I swear by the Old Gods and the New that the next chapter is the last. I just have never had a chance to write anything about the Long Night so I took my opportunity while I could. I don't see myself exploring canon for a LONG time after this fic is done.


	7. Chapter 7

He had never looked so small.

Of course he was a dwarf, the infamous half-man of Casterly Rock, but she had never thought of him as small. Short yes, but not small. He was a man that filled a room with his booming voice, his sharp wit, and boisterous personality. No, she thought, Tyrion Lannister had never been a small man no matter his stature.

But limp and pale upon the large bed he looked childlike. A broken, discarded doll and she was finally able to see how vulnerable he was. She had a lot of time to think about this, living in this chair beside him, waiting- _ waiting  _ for when he would wake. ( _ When, it must be when he wakes. Not if. If was a possibility she would not allow. _ )

Occasionally, she would leave the chair. His brother would take her spot, they would share a few words on his condition, on the maester’s prognosis, and she would leave him. She supposed they could find another chair, share their grief and fear, but she thinks they both preferred to keep their time with him to themselves. She knew Jamie spoke with him, talked incessantly as seemed to be a Lannister trait. Sometimes she stayed and listened in the hall, heard Jamie alternately cajole, threaten, and beg life back into his brother. Sansa could only sit and watch, keeping her hands busy with sewing and mending. 

When not at his side she would spend the days wandering the castle. Initially, she had tried to take up the reins of leadership but the lack of sleep and worry made her foggy and what had once come so easily to her no longer did. Luckily, the reverse had happened with her younger brother since the Night King fell. He was coming  _ back,  _ back to life, back to Bran. Where before he was more Three-eyed Raven than human, the Raven’s hold on him grew less everyday. Like his father before him, he took on the responsibility no second son ever wanted of becoming Lord due to his elder brother’s death. 

Vaguely, Sansa wondered if she should be upset. She had led their people when her brother’s didn’t. The Knights of the Vale had come to her aid, turning the tide. She and Jon had reclaimed their home. 

But Sansa wasn’t upset at all. Having Bran back was worth any price and honestly she had never expected to be Winterfell’s Lady. Winterfell was supposed to be the home of her childhood, not of her adulthood. Daughters always left to become Ladies of their husband’s keep. 

( _ If they had made it to the ship would she be Lady of Casterly Rock now? Only vaguely aware of rumors of a dead army and of dragons over the Westerosi sky? What blissful ignorance. _ )

A week had passed since the Long Night and the army prepared to leave the next day. She had spent the last two days ( _ roughly a third of it asleep as Arya spiked her tea with nightshade so she’d finally rest _ ), avoiding the little chair by Tyrion’s bed by trying to help the preparations and sort through the rubble of her mind. What really happened is she spent time observing all the happy couples. Jon and Daenerys acting in unison as they prepared to march south. Brienne and Jaime sparring, bickering, and holding hands over Jaime’s worry for Tyrion. Arya and her Blacksmith saying a painful goodbye (Arya hadn’t told her exactly what happened, but rumor had it their soulmarks indicated they had very different roads ahead of them) and she had arrived at a painful conclusion.

She could not take Tyrion up on his offer to be his wife. Even if he loved her if his slip of the tongue was true.

Because she was in love with him.

( _ Stupid girl that she was, she hadn’t even realized the emotion for what it was. Only that she was lost without him. That she wanted nothing more than to gather his still form to her breast until he awoke. That she craved his voice, his laugh, his touch. Nothing would be sweeter. It was Arya, Arya of all people who took one look at her sister, stone faced and petrified by her ex-husband’s sick bed, and informed her in an authoritative but gentle tone “You love him.” She realized now after seeing her and Gendry together that it was easy to recognize heartache when you were experiencing your own.) _

And because she was in love with him, she would not deprive him of the possibility of him finding his soulmate even if she had given up on hers. Or worse yet, his soulmate coming into his life after they had remarried, had built a life, had  _ children.  _ He was a good man, he wouldn't spurn her, or leave her for his soulmate. But it would cast an ugly shadow over their marriage like a hangman’s axe, and slowly poison whatever life they had built together until her heart broke completely and she had no choice but to leave him for his own good.

( _ Not all soulmate fairy tales had happy endings for all parties involved. She just never pictured herself as a side character, the one who lost the hero to his true love. _ )

But he was still her friend, and she was drawn to him as only a woman in love with someone unattainable could be, so she returned to the chair. 

Jaime relinquished it, excited that Tyrion had shown some signs of regaining consciousness by becoming more restless in his sleep. Samwell Tarley and Maester Wolken believed he would wake soon.

The color had returned to his face since she last saw him, and someone ( _ Podrick she assumed who flitted in and out of the room constantly fussing over his former Lord _ ) had trimmed his beard nicely. How she had ever found him anything other than devastatingly handsome was beyond her. Feeling a bit like a naughty child stealing a cooling lemon cake from Old Nan, she took advantage of his unconsciousness to touch his face, trace his scar and lips. Her fingers danced, combing through those lush golden curls. It would probably be the most she could have of him. The temptation to steal a kiss was almost too much but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it, cheapening something that would have been precious to her. Instead she checked on his broken and splinted arm noting the wrap had come loose in his increasing restlessness.

She unwrapped the bandage from around his hand. A hand that held her own through countless struggles and had wiped away her tears. A hand he had injured in defence of her life. She did indulge herself then with a kiss to the swollen and bruised knuckles as she held it to her cheek.

“Please don’t hate me for what I will say when you awake. In another life, free of soulmarks I would happily marry you time and time again. How I envy Missandei and Greyworm who can just freely follow their hearts! But I can’t take a chance that you would only be mine briefly. If somehow your soulmate revealed herself while we were together, it would break me. It would break me to lose you, and it would break me not to see you have your perfect other half. Because you deserve it Tyrion. You deserve the happily ever after.” Her voice faltered a little “I’m just afraid it’s not with me.”

After the despair of the words washed away with hot tears that fell freely, Sansa wiped her eyes and returned to the business at hand. Pulling away the bandage from his wrist she revealed the very soulmark that was the reason for all her heartache. She had never paid it much mind in their marriage, always covered with the bracelet that matched her own. He never spoke of what it said, choosing to keep the words a private matter (at least from her).

The embellished W was on the larger side for a soulmark letter, perhaps to make up for his smaller form or to reflect his large personality, and it was quite lovely. She couldn't help but admire it. Noticing something odd creeping out from underneath the gauze dressing next to his soulmark she removed the rest of the bandage around the wrist to see what it was. What lay underneath would change her life forever.

  
  


_**Wolf Wife** _

* * *

  
  
  


There was a grotto at Casterly where Tyrion would swim with his siblings, their friends, cousins, and visiting children they had been charged to entertain by Tywin. Half was a lovely shallow pool with a sandy beach perfect for swimming and playing. But if you dared to walk out to the back towards the inlet from the sea, along the slippery rocks between the water and the sheer cliff face, the clear water dropped down into a deep blue hole of considerable depth, perfect for diving. It was one of his favorite spots at the Rock, one where Tywin never was to be found, and Tyrion spent a considerable part of his childhood there. He couldn’t swim and dive as well as the twins, but could outmatch any of the visitors who did not live by the sea. However, he could hold his breath underwater longer than anyone.

He loved swimming to the bottom of the blue hole. The noises from above would fade to whispers, the faces blurry and indistinct as they peered down at him.

Other than lost in a book, it was the time he was most at peace. 

Somehow (and Gods he doesn’t know how he can’t  _ remember _ ), he was back in the blue hole looking up. Jaime was there, he knew for sure, talking to him, calling for him to come up, come to the surface and join him. There were other faces as well, obscure and nameless ( _ why can’t he remember? _ ), a woman with silver hair accompanied by a serious looking man, a heavy set fellow in Maester’s garb, a small sharp faced girl, a familiar man with a boyish face, a blonde giantess. These figures came and went, but there was always the maiden with the long, red hair watching him. She didn’t speak but she was always there ( _ She was important, she was important to him. He needed to reach her that much he knew _ ). He tried several times to swim to the surface, but his legs were like lead and no matter how much he kicked he couldn’t reach her.

And then one day he looked up and she was gone, and he no longer felt like trying to get out of the blue hole. He was tired. So tired. Everything hurt, his arm throbbed uselessly and he turned his back on the faces above. He just wanted to go home ( _ I have no home. Not anymore…. Of course you do. It is where you will find her. _ ) He closed his eyes and sank further, the blue hole deeper than he remembered, the darkness enveloped him but he was not afraid.

With a gasp, he woke upon the beach fully clothed in a doublet of crimson and gold yet somehow dry. The light had a peculiar golden softness to it, but he was undoubtedly on the grotto’s beach at the Rock. With no memory of how he came to be here, he stumbled away from the beach finding himself in the gardens, but not the gardens as he remembered. The gardens he had grown up with were colorless. They entertained little after his mother’s death so Tywin had no regard for them. He demanded that the gardens be used for practical purposes, the growth of herbs for cooking or medicinal purposes, or vegetables.

The garden Tyrion found himself in now overflowed with blooms of all colors and sizes. The trees bore immense fruit, bright red apples twice as big as his fist, vibrantly hued oranges, limes, and lemons. The smell of it all left him a bit overwhelmed. He had just reached for a lemon ( _ Lemoncakes are her favorite. I shall make sure to plant a whole grove for her when I bring her here.)  _ Confused by the memory he dropped the lemon, just as he heard laughter. 

Following the giggles, he believed himself lost in a memory as he found two golden haired teens playing a game of tag around a large ornamental fountain in the center of the garden. He was certain it was the twins, until the girl spotting him, launched herself at him crying “Uncle!” The boy, all gangly long arms with a soft round face, also crashed into him picking him up and swinging him around. When finally placed back down, he stared into the eyes of his beloved niece and nephew and burst into tears of joy.

Myrcella and Tommen were a bit taken back by his tears. He could hear Tommen whisper to Myrcella “Why didn’t she tell us he was coming here today?”

“Because he’s not supposed to be here.” chimed a melodious voice. One that Tyrion had only ever heard in his dreams. From the far side of the fountain, a figure resplendent in a gown of deep green embroidered with golden lions emerged. Tyrion knew immediately who it was with her emerald eyes and golden curls so like his own.

“Mother” he whispered, falling to his knees.

“My boy, my darling boy.” she swept closer gathering his face in her hands. “Look at you. So handsome like your brother.” Joanna Lannister peered at him closely. “And clever like your father.” she said wistfully. “But so kind like..”

“My mother,” he said horsley.

She beamed at him, tears in her eyes. “Welcome home my son.”

* * *

  
  
  


Tyrion wasn’t sure how long he spoke with his mother, or told stories of all he had seen to his niece over Cyvasse, or helped Tommen care for his kittens while telling him of dragons. He just knew the strange golden hue had changed to twilight when his mother ran her hands through his curls and said sadly, “You don’t belong here, at least not yet my love.”

“I know.” and he did know. “I have to go back. I know that. But I don’t remember how I came to be here. So much is missing.”

“It is time for you to remember,” she said, handing him the lemon he had dropped earlier.

( _ Memories flooded his mind. A young maiden and a direwolf in the courtyard of a castle, the same girl stripped and beaten in a throne room, a bloody word on ivory skin, a gown of gold, a tearful bride, an imp and his maiden-bride walking through a garden, a pale slender fingered hand in his own, a ship sailing glimpsed through prison bars, dragons, a silver queen, the maiden now a woman smiling down at him, the dead, the crypts, the pain as his arm was crushed. _ )

“Sansa” he whispered. “I must get back to her.”

Joanna just gave him a sad smile, “I will miss you my dear. But I will see you again of that I am sure.”

“I hope so.”

“There is time for you to atone for your sins Tyrion. Go back.  _ Do good.  _ Let love fill your heart, not hate, grief, or resentment.”

“Like Father.”

“Like your father.” she sighed sadly clutching Tyrion tightly to her chest, giving him a final hug full of love.

Myrcella and Tommen also hugged him good-bye. “Tell our father that we love him.” whispered Myrcella “and that we’re happy for him and Ser Brienne.”

“I will.” he croaked.

They bid him farewell at the edge of the grotto and he watched them walk away until they were out of sight before edging along the rocky narrow ledge to once again stare at the blue hole. Determined that this time he wouldn’t stop until he reached the faces he saw before, he dove into the brilliant blue waters the color of Sansa’s eyes. 

* * *

It was dark in the room, with the exception of one candle when Tyrion finally opened his eyes. The world was far blurrier than he remembered, but it was slowly coming into focus. His arm was splinted and wrapped and a dull, throbbing pain radiated from it. His head felt ten times heavier than it was and it took tremendous effort to turn it towards the figure he had glimpsed in the chair at his side.

Eyes squeezed shut, Sansa hunched over the side of his bed, his hand clenched in her own as she held it against her cheek. Whispered words escaped her lips but he couldn’t quite make out all of what she was saying except “All this time, all this time…” Several tendrils of her crimson hair that had escaped from the single braid she wore draped across both her cheek and his hand. He tried to speak, but his mouth was so dry no sound emerged. Instead he was able to move one of his fingers and stroke the peachy softness of her cheek.

Startled, her eyes shot open and he found her piercing blue eyes filled with tears. “Tyrion” she cried as she gently cupped his hand to her face. A smile as bright as the dawn made its way across her face. “Welcome back.” she said softly, wiping away her tears.

He tried to smile reassuringly, but his lips cracked as he moved them. Sansa fetched him some water while he struggled with his good arm to sit up. She held the cup steady for him while he sipped it slowly. Finally, his tongue functioned again and he croaked out “What happened?”

Sansa filled him on the events of the Long Night and the week that he had missed. ( _ Arya Stark had killed the Night King and Jon Snow was really a Targaryen and the true heir to the Iron Throne! The only thing that could have stunned him more would be if his soulmate were to suddenly appear! _ ) He was relieved to hear of his brother’s safety as well as that of so many of his friends. Ser Jorah’s death hit him hard and he was also sadder than he’d thought to hear about Theon, if only because he could see how grief stricken Sansa was. Sansa gave him a letter from Daenerys who had left that morning, but his headache ( _ and a hint of wounded pride at being left behind _ ) caused him to put it to the side until later. Sansa explained that the army was only moving as far as Moat Cailin to convaless for a few weeks. Bran had discovered a cache of food there, sealed off and hidden before the Iron Borne sacked the keep.

“I promised Ser Jaime I’d fetch him the minute you gained consciousness, but I need to speak with you first.” she said quietly, reaching for his bandaged hand. 

His stomach clenched painfully. “Is this about my proposal of marriage?”

“In a way.” she said quietly. He subtly tried to wrest his hand from her own, finding her touch in the face of her imminent rejection unbearable, but she only clutched it tighter.

“I shouldn’t have put you in that awkward spot. I put the feelings I have for you ahead of what is right for you.” He broke eye contact and stared at the blanket. “We both know that the only way you will marry again is when you find your soulmate.”

“So what you said in the tunnel, about protecting the ones you love..” she questioned.

“I’m not sure what you want to hear Sansa or what is to gain from this conversation.” he said, still unable to look at her.

“The truth Tyrion.” 

“I’m in love with you.” he blurted out almost angrily. He finally looked at her again expecting her face to show at worst disgust or at best pity. He saw neither, just a longing ache that matched his own feelings.

She pulled her hands away from him and started to unsnap her bracelet that he had given her before they wed. “You’re right about me Tyrion. In fact you know me better than I know myself. I can’t marry anyone but my soulmate, but I also know that the same is true for you.” A thousand rebuttlels voiced in his head, but they were silenced as she lay her arm across his chest.

“For years I doubted my soulmark, but it never led me astray. At first, I just didn’t listen or understand what it was telling me and then later I had lost my faith and trust in everything, not just soulmarks.” She smiled at him through his hurt and confusion. “I learned that the journey to find my soulmate was not just about finding the right person, or the perfect timing. It was about me finding the perfectly, imperfect version of myself so that I was ready for him. It was about my perfectly imperfect soulmate, finding the best version of himself so he was ready for me.”

Love swelled in his heart for her, even if with a sense of dread he could read the radiant peace and joy coming off of her. “You found your soulmate.” he swallowed the lump in his throat as she nodded in affirmation. “Congratulations, it’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. To be safe and happy….and loved.” Tyrion meant every word he said through his broken heart.

“I’m giving you back this bracelet. My soulmark is now a source of joy to me, not something to be hidden away and ignored. I won’t cover it anymore. I want him to be able to see everyday how much I love him.”

“It was a gift Sansa. Do with it as you please.” he said numbly, wondering if he had in fact not made it back to the land of the living but was in fact in one of the Seven Hells. 

“Please take it off.” she said in a pleading voice.

Tyrion used his left hand to slip it off her wrist. Free of the bracelet, Sansa did not pull back her arm but instead turned it so her soulmark was facing towards him. The “L” was familiar; he had seen it before it all it’s elegant beauty when he had cleaned the blood and gore from the jagged letters she had carved next to it. 

But those scars were long gone, and in their place were the words “ _ Little Lion _ .”

The sob he had been suppressing surfaced violently, joy now replacing the anguished sorrow. “I spent the last week in this chair by your side, unable to function at the thought you may not recover. In that time, I realized that I was in love with you but I could not marry you. I couldn’t bear the thought that you would never truly be mine.” 

She moved her hands towards his injured arm, and he reluctantly let the words he had been waiting a lifetime to see out of his sight. Tenderly she unwound the bandage from his hand and wrist to reveal his own soulmark, and as the words “ _ Wolf Wife” _ appeared he lost control and sobbed openly. 

“It was you all this time.” she said tenderly kissing the words. “ _ Love  _ my soulmark told me, each time you came to Winterfell.”

“As mine told me to go to Winterfell and that my Wife was there.” he paused looking at her seriously. “All this time.’ he said wistfully.

“But we’re here now.”

“And that’s all that matters.” She looked at him shyly. “Will you kiss me now?”

“Only if you’ll marry me  _ Wolf Wife.” _

His lips met hers tenderly with all the love and emotion of a long waited soulbond years in the making.

* * *

They married four months later on a terrace overlooking Black Water Bay ( _ and the ship on which they would be sailing on for their long, long overdue honeymoon _ ) officiated by the Queen as her King was busy giving away the bride. Sansa hadn’t wanted to marry in the God’s Wood again, wanting not the slightest stain of her second marriage on her third. Plus she wanted her entire family present ( _ which was a first)  _ so it was easiest to do it the days following the coronation of Jon (aka Aegon) and Daenerys Targaryen.

The battle for King’s Landing had been a relatively bloodless event in the end. Cersei had counted on using the citizens as human shields, locking down the city and attempting to starve them into submission, but the people escaped in droves thanks to Varys network and knowledge of the underground tunnels. Ser Bronn of all people became the inside leader of the exodus ( _ While he was eventually given a title and castle for his deeds, when pressed one drunken night by Tyrion about his true motivations, Bronn finally replied “You ever seen a child starve to death and been helpless to do a fucking thing about it? At eight I was, and my five year old sister paid the price. I wasn’t fucking helpless this time.”)  _ and the citizens of King’s Landing poured out of the city like a sieve in a few weeks time.

With the innocents safe, the dragons took out Euron’s Iron Fleet in a single surprise attack while the combined Army took the city. Faced with her own downfall, Cersei took her own life rather than surrender.  _ (As for evidence of the child she bore, none could be found. The sad truth was eventually found in the notes in Qyburn’s journal, a phenomenon known as a hysterical pregnancy. Cersei wanted another child so badly, she had willed her body to believe it was pregnant. It was the one and only time Tyrion wept for her.) _

They still hadn’t completely mapped out their future. Small council positions had been offered to them both, but the Rock also needed it’s Lord and Lady. ( _ Jaime had flat out refused the title claiming there were two many memories to haunt him there and that he and Brienne would be settling in Tarth. Tyrion just laughed and told Sansa “I’ve seen the ghosts. They’re nothing but friendly, trust me. _ ”) All that really mattered is that they would be together, because they had found their home in each other.

* * *

  
  


Arya’s ship sailed right after the ceremony and a few hours before their own. Sansa couldn’t help but watch it disappear over the horizon from their balcony in the Red Keep. Looking down she could see that she was not the only one as she made out the black hair of the newly named Lord of Storm’s End watching as well. Tyrion came to join her, clasping her hand in support. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d be jealous my new bride is staring at another man.” he teased with a gentle kiss to her hand.

“It’s obvious that they love each other deeply. I’m sure their soulmates, if only she had stayed...” she lamented.

“Sansa, my love, light of my life, my moon and stars…” he waxed poetically.

“Yes, my silver tongued husband, my best friend, and my soulmate.” she replied in kind.

“Haven’t you learned by now from our own star-crossed experience that we can’t force these things? That sometimes love and soulmates come the long way round?” he said his eyes gazing at her softly and full of love.

“And it was worth the wait.” Sansa said kneeling beside him and kissing him passionately. Their lips danced together with practiced ease. They’d certainly done a lot of it over the last few months. “Speaking of waiting, we have a few hours until we leave….”

Tyrion just hummed an affirmative as he ran his tongue up and down her collarbone, knowing all the places that made her moan and shudder.

“I was hoping..” she gasped as his hand cupped a breast.

“That you may want to to join me...” his nimble fingers were unlacing the back of her gown touching as much skin as possible. “in our..”

“Lady Lannister, are you asking for me to bed you?” he said tantalizingly as her gown puddled to the ground leaving her in just a sheer shift.

“Yes please.” she said divesting him of his own garments.

  
  
  
  
  


They almost missed that ship too.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this, even if it did take on a life of it's own. Apparently I don't "do" short fics lol. Thanks for joining me on this journey while I put my own twist on the soulmark trope and season 8.
> 
> Now back to the "Love is Blind" fic for those that have asked. (I am not GRRM and will actually finish.)
> 
> Love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt to work diligently and finish a small fic (And God help me this WILL be a short fic) during NaNoWriMo 2020 while working through a bit of writers' block or perhaps just exhaustion on my other WIP.
> 
> I'd been wanting to write a soulmark AU for awhile, but it took time for me to work out the soulmarks I wanted to use as first words and matching images just weren't going to do it for me.
> 
> Let me know what you think


End file.
